Page 110 of Ten Day Affair
Arden waits, but I don’t elaborate. There’s nothing left to say.
"How does that make you feel?"
"I'm numb right now with everything. You know, we spent ten days together. He’s been gone now longer than he was here."
I run my finger along the pattern on the vinyltablecloth, and neither of us speaks for an extended few seconds. "I keep doing the math, like somehow it all makes sense."
"Yeah. Finding order helps me get over the hump sometimes."
I keep waiting to get over that hump.
My glass sits nearly empty, ice cubes melted down to slivers. Arden swirls what's left of her tea, the metal spoon clinking against glass.
"Are you going to sell the house?"
The question catches me off guard. Why is that the first thing everyone asks?
"No."
"Rent it out?"
"No." My voice comes out sharper than I intended.
"Sam—"
"I'm not selling it. I'm not renting it. I'm not letting it go."
She sets her spoon down carefully. "Okay. I'm not suggesting you should. I'm just trying to understand."
The pelican has moved to a different section of the harbor. Even the birds know when to change locations.
"I bought that house with the money Mom left me." The words spill out before I can stop them.
"Yeah, she wanted to help you get started, not make you feel tied down."
"It's a part of her to me. Everything connected to her is changing. I'm not ready to say the house doesn't matter."
"The house does matter."
"I told myself I was buying freedom when I signed those papers. Independence. A place that was mine, not my dad's, not the hospital's legacy. Mine. Now it just feels like something I'm not strong enough to leave behind."
There it is. The truth I've been dancing around.
"That's not weakness, Sam. That's grief."
"Is it?" I look at her directly for the first time since she asked about the house.
"Yes, it is. Losing someone like your mom will ebb and flow for the rest of your life, probably. Follow your gut, be kind to yourself about it. You've had a lot of shit coming at you recently."
"Or is it me being too scared to become the person I thought I wanted to be?"
Arden doesn't answer right away. She watches a yacht motor slowly through the harbor, its wake spreading in white lines behind it.
"Maybe it's both. Maybe that's okay."
The server appears with the check, and we both reach for our wallets without thinking. Normal motions, normal afternoon, while empty boxes begging to be packed fill my house.
"What scares you more? Leaving Palm Beach or staying?"
